The Burma Legacy

by Geoffrey Archer

  As they trudged on, Sam found himself daring to believe the operation was almost over. Barring some disaster, he’d soon be handing responsibility to others. Midge, Waddell and the machinery of diplomacy would take over. Yes, he would talk to the Matsubara board, to give substance to the ‘reconciliation’ story. Even hold Melissa’s hand if he had to. But then he could go home.

  Before long they were amongst trees, the well-worn path climbing ever higher. Gibbons screeched in the branches and unseen birds gave mocking cries. Squires had his eyes closed and the strap had fallen from between his teeth. A drift back into unconsciousness had eased his pain.

  After a while the path became steeper however, and the mules began struggling for a footing. Jimmy Squires came to with a jolt. Then one of the animals fell, pulling the stretcher and the other beast down with it.

  ‘God … Oh Jee-sus!’

  The muleteer hissed at the creatures, trying to encourage them back on their legs, but it was clear they’d have to unload the cargo if they were to get them moving again. The straps were undone and the stretcher lifted onto the ground.

  Sam crouched down. Despite his loathing of Jimmy Squires, he could see the man was in excruciating pain. And he did have a means of relieving it, he realised. But there’d be a price to pay.

  ‘I could help you.’

  ‘yes …’

  ‘The smack in that suitcase …’

  ‘Yes …’

  ‘I could make a solution and inject it. I have a syringe.’ It was in the medical pack in his rucksack.

  ‘Do it …’ Squires’ voice was barely audible.

  ‘But first you tell me what I want to know.’

  ‘Oh God! Anything …’

  ‘What route were you using?’

  Squires panted like a birthing mother.

  ‘This …’ he gasped. ‘This was the route.’

  Sam stood up again, shaking his head. ‘It isn’t going to work.’

  ‘Waddya mean?’

  ‘You’re fucking lying.’ He began to walk away.

  ‘Steve … Come back.’

  Sam glared over his shoulder. ‘What’s the point?’

  ‘I’ll tell you everything. Just get the gear outta that bag.’

  Sam walked to the third of the mules and began unstrapping the suitcase. The tee-shirted soldier with the glass eye rushed over to stop him.

  Sam pointed at Squires, then at the bag and mimed making an injection with a syringe. The soldier shook his head, but the wail from the stretcher persuaded him to relent. They lowered the case to the ground and opened it.

  The heroin was packed in thick polythene bags, each the size of a pound of sugar. Sam picked one up and walked it back to Squires.

  ‘How much do I use?’

  ‘No bloody idea.’ His face was in permanent spasm by now.

  ‘So tell me,’ said Sam. ‘The route. Names, places, the lot.’

  ‘Jee-sus … Just give me a shot, for pity’s sake.’

  ‘Tell me about Yangon.’

  ‘Okay. Okay. There’s a furniture-maker. 39th Street. Name of Myo Tin. The smack gets concealed inside the containers he uses to ship the stuff abroad.’

  ‘And it was Major Soe Thein who got the gear to Yangon for you.’

  ‘Yes. Shit, man! Just give me a shot will you?’

  Sam took a water bottle and the medical pack from his rucksack.

  ‘Can’t vouch for it being sterile,’ he commented. Squires grunted non-committally. ‘Still … that’s not a detail you’ll have given a second thought to, in relation to your customers.’

  With a knife he cut a corner off the polythene and poured a small amount of the powder into the cap of the water bottle. Then he added some water.

  ‘I’m guessing on the dose. This may kill you.’

  ‘Right now I don’t care.’

  ‘Keep talking.’

  ‘I’ve told you …’

  ‘Next to nothing.’

  ‘Jesus! What else …?’

  ‘The shipping on from Yangon. Your contact in Oz.’

  ‘Okay, okay. It goes by boat to a furniture distributor in Port Klang, Malaysia. He ships it on to Sydney. That’s all there is.’

  Sam clicked his tongue. ‘This is going nowhere.’

  ‘Wha’ you mean?’ Squires gibbered.

  Sam tipped the heroin solution onto the ground.

  ‘Fuck …’ Squires bit his lip.

  Two uniformed soldiers bent to lift the stretcher.

  ‘No-oo!’ Squires yelled. ‘Jesus, Steve. What are you made of?’

  ‘Same as you, Jimmy. Same as you. Your last chance. Tell me about Australia.’

  ‘Man, there’s nothing to say.’

  ‘Try. Who gets the stuff when it’s removed from the furniture shipment?’

  ‘Not my area. I don’t deal.’

  ‘Who does?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know.’

  ‘You couldn’t be honest if your life depended on it.’ Sam backed away.

  The soldiers bent to lift the stretcher, but Squires’ howl stopped them in their tracks.

  Sam looked down at his prisoner.

  ‘Two names, Jimmy. The furniture-dealer who strips out the heroin and the man who cuts and pushes it. Two little names, then I’ll give you a shot that’ll put you onto a nice pile of cotton-wool clouds …’

  ‘The pusher’s called Marty. He’s ex-army.’

  ‘Hebble,’ said Sam, remembering the name Midge had emailed him back in London.

  ‘Jesus! You knew …’

  ‘Wanted the pleasure of hearing you say it. And who’s the furniture man?’

  ‘Bartholomew. Runs a warehouse in Newcastle. Now help me for fuck’s sake.’

  Sam was being hassled by the soldiers but persuaded them to wait a few minutes. He poured more of the powder into the bottle cap and swished water around until the solution became clear. Unpeeling the sterilised wrapper from a syringe pack, he dipped the needle into the liquid and drew it into the chamber.

  ‘Never done an intravenous before,’ he cautioned, easing up the plunger to expel the air. ‘But I’ve watched “Casualty” a few times.’

  Squires stretched out a forearm in eager anticipation. Sam removed a shoelace from one of Squires’ boots and used it as a tourniquet.

  ‘Nice veins.’ He punctured the blue line of skin and slid in the needle. Then he pushed the plunger home.

  Gradually, the tension eased from Squires’ face. Sam withdrew the syringe and pressed a finger on the dribble from the vein.

  A few minutes later the convoy was ready to move again, its cargo drifting back into unconsciousness.

  ‘Just don’t die on me, Jimmy,’ Sam muttered as he fell in behind the mules. ‘You’re a present for someone, so just don’t fucking die.’

  It was another two hours before they reached the pass through the mountains, the soldiers’ increasing jitteriness indicating their proximity to Thailand with its hostile army and police.

  Evening was drawing in and the insects were starting to bite. Sam watched a mosquito settle on Jimmy Squires’ forehead, idly wondering if the heroin in the man’s blood would make the creature incapable of flight.

  The path began to descend. Ahead of them, some way down the valley, a vertical smudge of brown suggested smoke from a village. Sam pointed and asked if that was their destination, but got no response. He felt increasingly uneasy, sensing the men had an agenda which involved more than simply delivering him and Squires to the other side.

  As they drew nearer to the village, he could make out the shapes of low houses. The back of his neck prickled. He glanced behind. The three uniformed soldiers bringing up the rear of the caravan were gone.

  Covering their retreat, he guessed. Which meant the buggers were expecting trouble.

  The two at the front, the weightlifter and the man with a glass eye were no longer carrying rifles, he noted. He spotted one of the barrels protruding from a saddle pack on the third mule and fe
lt irritated with himself that he’d allowed his mind to wander and hadn’t noticed them put it there. The civilian-dressed pair must be hoping to pass at a distance for local people, he guessed. He felt increasingly anxious. His goal was in sight, yet still beyond his reach.

  They emerged from the last of the trees and the track widened. The two soldiers spread out, as if wanting to make themselves a harder target. Their shoulders hunched with tension. A handful of people were standing at the edge of the village watching. As if they’d been expecting them.

  About a hundred metres to go and the soldiers stopped suddenly. The man with the glass eye gestured for the muleteer to wait. They came back to the animals, pretending to adjust the loads, but it was to provide cover for the weightlifter who produced binoculars and worriedly scanned the edge of the village.

  Logic told Sam the pair would still be armed. He eyed their baggy trousers, looking for the bulge of handguns, but all he saw was a small rectangular outline in the back pocket of the weightlifter’s pants.

  The glasses were passed from one man to the other as if a second opinion was needed. Sam peered past them, trying to identify what was concerning them. The people on the edge of the village did not appear to be in uniform.

  That box in the man’s back pocket … Matches?

  They began to move again.

  At fifty metres he could clearly see it was three people on the village edge. One looked to be a woman. Brown hair and a slim figure. Wearing something yellow.

  Midge wore yellow.

  With a surge of horror he realised what Hu Sin had done.

  Not matches. That lump in the Wa soldier’s back pocket was his tracer. The bastards had used it as a lure. And there she was, a pistol shot away.

  Brought here by a transponder beep so that Hu Sin could have her killed.

  And here she came. Marching out of the shelter of the village, a grin splitting her face, and with two white-shirted Thais beside her.

  So stupid of him. So totally fucking stupid to have believed in happy endings.

  ‘Midge! Get away!’

  His yell stopped her in her tracks.

  But too late. The soldiers pulled out pistols and began firing. Sam cannoned after them, rugby tackling the weightlifter and bringing him down onto the rough grass. Midge and the Thais threw themselves flat. Shots rang out from the village behind them, flashes across a wide arc of the perimeter. Midge had brought the cavalry.

  The weightlifter kicked himself free and scrambled to his feet. Bullets zipped through the scrub as he began to run back to the cover of the trees. He was felled within seconds.

  Sam felt a kick in his side. He knew immediately he’d been hit, but looked up, more concerned about Midge than himself. He saw the yellow of her shirt, prone on the ground, then his view was blocked by the mules trotting towards the village, delivering their cargo as if on autopilot.

  Feeling his strength draining away, he reached down to his side. The ground beside him was sticky with his blood.

  He tried to get up, but his arms gave way and he slumped forward again, face flopping against the earth.

  Then he heard a voice. Far, far above him.

  ‘Sam! Sam!’

  Midge. As he slipped towards blackness he had a weird, out-of-body vision. She was standing over him. Then crouching down and pressing her hand against his side.

  The last thought in his mind before passing out was that for the first time in their acquaintance she’d used his real name.

  Twenty-nine

  Maharaj Nakorn Hospital, Chiang Mai

  Sunday, 16 January

  When he’d come round from the anaesthetic it had been the middle of the night. They’d told him he was okay. Lost a lot of blood, because the bullet had ruptured his spleen. They’d removed the thing. Told him he would manage fine without it. A few days’ recuperation in the hospital and he could be on his way.

  He’d slept some more, on and off, and now it was morning. He studied his surroundings for the first time. It was a private room and an outrageously pretty nurse had just come in to check his dressing and take his pulse. Her English was poor but she could be a deaf mute for all he cared, so long as she stayed where he could look at her.

  She told him not to try to sit up. Anyway, the pain in his side when he tensed his muscles was an instant deterrent. When she’d made him comfortable and given him some water to sip, she handed him an envelope that had been left on his bedside table.

  He let her open it for him but declined her offer to read it aloud. It might be personal. Even confidential.

  It was both.

  My Hero!

  You’re amazing. Saved my life back there.

  I’ve gone with Jimmy to Bangkok. Military air ambulance. They don’t know if they can save his leg. Couldn’t happen to a nicer bloke. We have the ‘H’. The Thais will prosecute. Death sentences aren’t often carried out here, more’s the pity, but if he gets fifty years in a Bangkok jail that’s fine by me. All my ghosts laid to rest. The police will want to interview you in a day or two, so don’t go away. I’ll get back up to Chiang Mai as soon as I can myself. I want to hear everything. And to see if there’s something I can do to speed your recovery …

  Business first. The SPDC in Yangon have put out some extraordinary story about two old war vets being murdered by bandits after an historic reconciliation. One Jap, one Brit? What the hell’s that all about?

  Anyway, I contacted your people in London and at the Embassy in Bangkok. They’re very concerned about you and agitated about the two deaths in Myanmar. Urgently wanting your version of events. Mutterings about ‘the bugger better make it good.’ I assured them you would. Someone’s on their way to see you. Should be with you mid-morning. And they mentioned a distraught Englishwoman turning up at the consulate. Expelled from Yangon and expecting to meet you in Bangkok? They’re worried about her mental state and are looking for a nice clinic to keep her in until they’ve worked out where she fits into the story. Quite curious to know myself …

  Now for the rest. I took the liberty of phoning Julie. Hope you don’t mind. Duncan Waddell gave me her number. She sounded quite shocked, but I assured her you were okay and would be in touch today. Hope that wasn’t too presumptuous. She was really upset, Sam. Didn’t sound to me like a girl who was giving up on you. She also sounded a real understanding type, which is great, because you and I had a deal and I wouldn’t mind keeping my side of the bargain before you disappear from my life! So get your strength back …

  Love,

  Midge

  P.S. Don’t do anything stupid.

  Like running around getting shot at and losing bits of his body. It was going to have to stop. And so was getting into situations with loose women.

  Sam asked the nurse what day it was.

  ‘Sunday. You want to see priest? We have many Christian church in Chiang Mai.’

  ‘No, I don’t want a priest.’ He’d been trying to work out whether Julie would be at home or at work. ‘I want to make a phone call.’

  She moved the instrument closer to him and showed him how to get an outside line.

  ‘Where you want to call?’

  ‘London.’

  Julie gave a little squeal of delight when she heard his voice. ‘I’ve been so worried …’

  ‘I’m fine. Coming home in a few days.’

  ‘The woman who rang said you’d been shot.’

  ‘Nothing serious.’

  ‘Who was she, Sam?’

  ‘An Australian policewoman. Ugly as sin …’

  Julie laughed. ‘But are you really coming home soon?’ She sounded as if she didn’t believe it.

  ‘Soon as they let me out of here.’

  ‘Then I’ve some news for you.’

  He felt a fluttering of unease. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘I passed,’ she said.

  ‘Passed what?’ He had a dreadful feeling he ought to know what she was talking about.

  ‘My Day Skipper sailing exam.�
��

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ve been doing the theory course at evening classes. You know that phone message that upset you? From Jack? He was my instructor.’

  Sam tried to grasp what she was saying. ‘I don’t understand …’

  ‘Thought I’d better learn a few tricks, because you love boats so much. More use to you if I know something about it too. But I didn’t want to tell you in case I failed …’

  ‘So Jack …’

  ‘… was helping me understand all that estimated-position stuff.’

  ‘Christ! Never heard of it being called that before!’

  ‘You bast …’

  ‘Sorry darling. I got it wrong. Utterly, stupidly wrong.’ He felt absurdly emotional all of a sudden.

  ‘Actually I was rather flattered afterwards. Realised you cared.’

  ‘I love you, Julie.’

  ‘Love you too.’

  There was a pause. They both knew the moment had come for him to say something else.

  ‘I’ve made up my mind,’ he told her, having done so a split second ago. ‘What I’ve been doing is a bloody stupid way to earn a living.’

  He waited for her to respond, but she didn’t. Holding her breath, he suspected.

  ‘I’m giving in my notice.’

  ‘You mean that?’

  ‘Absolutely definitely.’

  But as he said it, the doubts crept back in.

  ‘What’ll you do instead?’

  He looked up. The nurse was watching him from the half-open door.

  ‘Well just at this moment there’s a stunningly pretty Thai girl in my bedroom …’

  ‘Sam! You’re a rotten sod.’

  ‘But you love me.’

  ‘That could change.’

  ‘See you in a day or three.’

  Sam put down the phone and stared up at the ceiling. This time, he was glad to say, there was no beetle crawling across it.

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